Rain
by Stefan-sama
Summary: One rainy day, Diego pays a visit to Mia's grave for the last time. Oneshot, DiegoxMia.


**Well, this thing may seem a bit hypocritical, since I hate really short stories a lot. But at least I have a slight excuse, since, believe it or not, I wrote this for my state writing test, getting a completely perfect score (twelve sixes). But that probably doesn't excuse the fact that my rambling on here is almost as long as the story itself, now, does it? Anyway, I didn't use any names, since I thought it was more powerful that way. It also might seem a bit similar to the final chapter of _The Frangrance of Dark Coffee, Indeed_, but I'd say my writing's improved a lot since then. Judge for yourself (and maybe tell me in a review), and enjoy!**

**Rain**

The rain poured down over the soil with a sound rather akin to television static, drenching all that lay on the ground below. He stepped slowly through the grass, his boots squelching in the moist mud. As the monsoon rained on, he walked past endless rows of gray, faded stones, their worn lettering rendered illegible through the mists. He didn't care, either. They were merely names, meaning nothing to him. His sole reason for being here sat blended among the rest at the back of the property.

Mud sank underfoot as he kneeled in front of the grave, his navy blue umbrella, torn and holed with years of use and misuse, shielding his graying hair. His slacks were getting muddy, but he didn't care about them, either. After all, what were a few old clothes to him? He traced the wet marble with his index finger, spelling out a single name.

An image flashed through his mind's eye as he chuckled dryly, remembering faint times long past. She smiled and laughed as she turned towards him in the darkness, her silky chocolate hair flowing around her. He felt, or, perhaps, remembered, the caress of her smooth porcelain touch, the brush of her soft velvet lips on his own. But no, it was all futile. She faded into mist as he attempted to embrace her, sitting up and gasping.

Collapsing with a sigh against the stone, he produced a faded sepia photograph from the rusty, golden locket hanging around his neck, dated August 26, 2012. A younger version of himself grinned cockily back at him, his raven hair back in spikes. In his right hand was a coffee mug, his left arm draped around her. Looking exactly as he remembered her, she smiled, resting her head on his shoulder happily. The pair showed off their hands to the camera, new silver rings glinting identically on their index fingers in the streetlights of downtown Los Angeles' night.

Disgusted, he tossed the picture into the mud, curling up into a ball against the tombstone and covering his face with the umbrella, his face in his knees and his arms locked around his legs. He sat in silence for a few moments, watching the downpour, blinked, then picked the photograph back up, wiping away the stains. Staring at it for a few seconds longer, he tucked it into his jacket with a dull crackle, and exhaled once again, scrunching up into an even tighter ball.

The photo was the only thing he had left to remember her by, everything else having been destroyed long ago in fits of anger and sorrow. He liked it better this way, as it left him with much less pain.

He sat back with a frown, watching various cars speed by, one after the other, roaring past and disappearing in the rain. Why hadn't they stopped to offer their respects? Why hadn't the entire world stopped and collapsed upon itself? She was dead, dead and gone, never to return. How could anything possibly be left? He threw his head back and laughed a hollow, empty laugh, mirroring the heavy pain he carried in his heart.

Using his knees as supports, he got up slowly, his tired old bones creaking with the effort. He turned and stared down at the grave for a few moments longer, then bent back down, closing his locket around the photograph and hanging it around the drenched tombstone. It slipped and fell around it to the ground. Grunting in annoyance, he hung it back up with a twitch. It slid back down once again. This time he didn't bother picking it back up.

Under his breath, he whispered one last, silent goodbye, pulling up his trenchcoat, and walked away, not looking back once. He didn't bother opening up the umbrella again. The rain served to mask his tears, the drizzle muffled his cries of anguish as he screamed fruitlessly at the unrelenting gray sky.


End file.
